Thursday, August 31, 2006

I pulled into a parking slot next tothe area we had used that morning.

We had the parking lot all to ourselves.

To the west we had a two-story wall,brick and windowless. To the east were trees.North of us were tennis courts with no lightsnow that it was past ten o’clock at night.South of us was a curving access roadwith shrubbery and other landscaping.There was one tall, circular light fixturein the center of the parking lot butwe were parked nearer the wall and the lightdidn’t even cast shadows that far off.

As parking lots go, we had privacy,but it was still an outdoor parking lot.

She opened her door. The dome light went on.Shelby fiddled with the overhead switchand turned off the light. She stretched out her legs,unbuttoned her dress and kicked off her shoes.

“Come on, Mister Indoor Guy,” Shelby said.“Why don’t we do it in the road?” She grabbedmy hand, then let herself tumble sidewaysout of the passenger seat and ontothe asphalt. I let her pull me with her.

Shelby lay with the asphalt under herand me on top of her with nothing butmy clothes and the thin strings and thin fabricof her lingerie between our bodies.

Shelby’s face was flushed and she looked at mewith an unbounded intensity thatmade it possible for me to ignoreor forget or just plain not care aboutthe fact that we were in a parking lot.I kissed her and she kissed me back, deep, hard.

Shelby’s hands moved down to my waist. She reachedto unbutton my jeans. But then she stopped.I felt her squirm, slightly, underneath me.I kissed her ear. “Am I heavy?” I asked.“Do you want me to—”

She interruptedby smiling, shaking her head. “No,” she said.“You’re fine. I just feel something under me.Must be a pebble or something. Let me—”Shelby squirmed, again, to shift position.

“How’s that?” I asked. “Did you get off of it?”

“No,” Shelby said. Her lips formed a tight line.“No,” she said, again. “In fact, it is worse.”

I pulled up my knees and sat back againstmy heels. I reached down. “Here, sit up,” I said.“I’ll brush off whatever is on your back.”

Shelby tried to sit up but winced in pain.“It’s my skin,” she said. “It’s caught on something.”

I shifted sideways and brought my right kneeover Shelby’s legs and kneeled next to her.I put my hand on her stomach to tryand calm her. “Tell me where you’re stuck,” I said.

She looked at me, her eyes wide, very round.Color drained from her face. Her skin was white.“My shoulders,” she said. “I can’t move at all.But now there’s something under my legs, too.It hurts. It’s like it’s cutting into me.”

Shelby screamed. I almost fell because bloodfrom under her hips made my knees slippery.

“Shelby,” I said, “I have to get the phone.”

“Don’t let me go for one second,” she said.“This fucking ground will eat me if you do.”

The pain is making her manic, I thought.

And the blood and screaming and poor Shelbycrying in her underwear were messingwith my own thinking because then it lookedlike she was sinking down into the ground.

It looked like the asphalt was eating her.

Shelby grimaced and wrenched her head from sideto side. She forced her head up to look downat her body. She lifted both her arms,bending them at the elbows and she grabbedat the tiny triangles of fabricthat still covered her breasts. She spoke, her voicehardly more than a growl. “It’s this fuckingunderwear,” she said. And she ripped downward,breaking the string, tearing the bra in two.

At that instant both her shoulders pulled free.

I didn’t know what I was doing orwhy, but I reached down and grabbed her panties.I crumpled the fabric and pulled, breakingthe strings at her hips. Her legs twisted free.

Next thing I knew Shelby was off the groundand had her arms and legs wrapped around me.

I half stood up but just let us both fallinto the passenger seat of my car.I dragged us over and pulled the door closed.

When Shelby heard the door slam behind hershe let her arms and legs go limp. She saggedback against the seat. I twisted furtherand turned the key still in the ignition.Shelby was crying in relief, bangingboth fists against the passenger door lock.

I rolled backward into the driver’s seat,shifted into drive and pounded my footagainst the accelerator. My carfishtailed as the drive tire burned rubber buttraction took hold and the car leaped forward.

I don’t remember if I drove out throughan exit or over the sidewalk butwe got out of that fucking parking lot.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

A friend of mine, Bob the photographer,did a fashion shoot in a parking lot.

La Perla had put together some stringwith some tiny triangles of fabricand was selling the things as lingerieto women with boyfriends who could budgetthree or four hundred bucks for underwear.The French model who stretched out on asphaltall morning got two thousand bucks an hourplus airfare, meals and hotel expenses.I was there on salary because Bobwas one of those photographers who likedcameras but not darkroom work. I likedenlargers better than cameras sowe split the chores, Bob doing the lens workand me doing processing and printing.We had assistants for hair and makeupand to wrangle fill lights and run for snacks.

It was a fun shoot, everyone happy,everyone earning plenty of money –especially the sexy French model –but in my memory all that sunshineis eclipsed by the crazy bloody nightI spent with Shelby when shooting was done.

Shelby did the French girl’s hair and makeup.The model gave Shelby some lingeriefrom the shoot. Just about six hours later,Shelby and I went out to get dinner.

The screaming had already started butwe just hadn’t heard it yet. The bleedingstarted later. Then we heard the screaming.

Most things we see that look like carsare cars. That doesn’t mean all thingswe see that look like cars are cars.

Every now and then, for instance,a colorful thing that looks likea butterfly might fly intoa parking lot and change intosomething that looks like a parked caronly to later drive away.

Every now and then, for instance,something that looks like a parked carmight change into something that lookslike a human being and walk out.

Industrial revolutiontrickle-down changes did awaywith most virgin streams and clear brooksanywhere near modern cities.I’m thinking now our parking lotsare the places to watch closelyin the industrial landscapeto observe fairies in action.

I’ve never heard of a bigfoot sightingwhere a person ran into the forest,where a person chased after the bigfoot.

Has cinema so shaped our consciousnessthat we live real life as if we’re in seatsand don’t even consider getting upto chase the images in front of us?Or is the experience of seeinga bigfoot so perpendicular toreal life that we feel as separate from itas we do from a Hollywood movie?

If I ever see a bigfoot I’ll tryto tackle it. I’ll try to drag it down.

Of course, fairy-lore is full of storieswhere humans get dragged to Magoniaand disappear into the fairy realm.But if I ever do see a bigfootI’ll still try to grab it and drag it down.Either I’ll drag it down to here, my ground,or it’ll drag me down to there, its ground.

I imagine that is the risk you takewhenever you get up out of your seat.You never know where the scene will take you.You become part of what looks like a filmto the people who do not leave their seats.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

EVA MARIE SAINT, KIM NOVAK, TIPPI HEDRENand GRACE KELLY are sitting at a semi-circular booth.We see Grace Kelly in the foregroundwith the other women to her right.

CUT TO:

LONG LENS CLOSE UP of Grace Kelly.The camera begins to DOLLY IN andat the same time ZOOM OUT.We hear her thinking.

ALEXA(voice-over)

There was me, that is, Alexa,and my three gal pals,that is, Shelly, Shelby and Chic,Chic being really chic,and we sat in Rick's Placechatting about what to dowith the evening, an awful,overcast, nippy, autumn pisser,though dry.

After “The Birds,” Alfred Hitchcocktried to lure Grace Kelly back to thefilm world by offering her the starring rolein his own adaptation of Anthony Burgess’s“A Clockwork Orange.” Sadly, the pressuresof being a real life princess kept Grace Kellyfrom returning to the directorwho had made her famous.

Friday, August 11, 2006

On his front porch, Martin reached to open the front door of his house but stopped. Instead of turning the doorknob, Martin knocked.

The porch light flashed on. The door opened only an inch or two. Susan stood hidden behind the door but leaned around to look out through the narrow crack.

“You’ve come back,” Susan said.

“Yes,” Martin said.

Susan looked down. “I don’t see your sweater in your hands.”

“No,” Martin said. “But I know where it is. I expect to have my hands on it any moment now.”

“Really?” Susan asked. “Where do you think it is?”

Martin raised an index finger as if to point, then touched his finger against the door. He gently pushed open the door.

Susan took a step back and let the door swing open. She stood in front of Martin wearing his sweater and nothing else. In the porch light, the sweater was bright green. The little rocket ship was bright red over her left breast.

“I knew you would figure it out,” Susan said.

“If you knew I would figure it out,” Martin said, “why did you do it?”

Susan shrugged. “Hey, I’m not the kind of girl to sit around knitting a sweater while her man stumbles home from Troy. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to have my sweater fun.”

“Girls just want to have fun,” Martin said.

“How did you figure it out?” Susan asked.

“I should have known from the beginning,” Martin said. “You throwing the sweater just at the moment I turned on the light. You holding the sweater just so, so that I could see the sweater and the little insignia clearly.”

Susan giggled. “I actually posed there for a moment, waiting for you to come out and look.”

“It was the raccoons that tipped me off,” Martin said.

“The raccoons squealed?” Susan asked.

“Oh, no,” Martin said. “I didn’t talk to them. But when I learned they hadn’t run away from the house but had run back toward the house I wondered why they’d risked me seeing them. But they knew you’d be keeping me busy on the porch, right?”

Susan grinned, said nothing.

“And when I learned the cover was off one of our trash cans, I wondered if it was just coincidence. Or something else. What, did you do a deal with the raccoons, they hand off the sweater to you and you let them at the garbage?”

“Quid pro quo,” Susan said.

“Quid pro quo, indeed,” Martin said. “Sailor’s home from the sea.”

Susan held out her arms. “Welcome home.”

Martin embraced her. He felt her body warm under the thin fabric of his sweater.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Walking away from the moths and mice, Martin also walked away from the only street lamp near the alley. The alley was dark, darker even than the front yard after Susan shut off the porch light.

Martin stopped at the entrance to the alley to let his eyes adjust. But even here it wasn’t totally dark. Ahead in the alley some illumination angled down from windows at the back of his house and from the house across the alley.

He saw the raccoons behind his house. The raccoons were climbing in and out of an open garbage can. Martin stopped. Leaning back against a telephone pole, Martin studied the scene in front of him.

The pack of raccoons was emptying the garbage can and eating all the leftovers they could find. Two or three raccoons were inside the big can, tossing out garbage. Two or three more raccoons were in the alley sorting the garbage and chowing down on anything edible.

“You guys better save some of that food for us,” one of the raccoons in the can hissed fiercely at his comrades on the outside.

“Yeah, right,” one of the raccoons hissed back, “like you’re sharing everything you find. I saw you eat that chicken leg.”

So the raccoons did circle back, Martin thought. They left the front yard through the hole in the bushes and turned right. They came directly back toward the house and must have hid somewhere in the alley.

Martin studied the animals in front of him. He wondered, Why would they have risked getting caught to come right back toward the house?

Then Martin turned his attention away from the animals and onto the ground. If they put down the sweater to pillage, Martin thought, I can just grab it now. I can just run forward, clap my hands and yell to scare the raccoons and grab the sweater while they’re panicking.

But not matter how carefully Martin studied the ground behind his house, he didn’t see his sweater.

Martin was puzzled, but not surprised. Somewhere in his consciousness, like the shadows of the moths fluttering on the road, the events of the evening were casting their shadows onto his thinking. The pattern of events, each silhouetted against the others, was starting to take on a visible form. Martin couldn’t exactly trace the outline, couldn’t exactly say what the shape was, couldn’t say he understood, but he was starting to see. Even with the darkness around him, there was a gradual kind of revealing illumination dawning inside him.

The raccoons had circled back, Martin thought. He knew this somehow held the key to all the events of the evening. The raccoons risked me seeing them, Martin thought. Did they know the garbage can was somehow uncovered? Was the imperative to ransack the garbage too strong for them to resist?

Martin remembered what the mouse had said when they’d speculated about the obvious ways the garbage can could have come unlatched. The mouse had ended by saying, “Or maybe something else.”

And Martin remembered something the squirrel had said, “If the raccoons have something of yours it belongs to the night, now.”

Had the raccoons already handed off his sweater, Martin wondered, to the squirrel? Or to the mice? Or did they –

And then like an internal floodlight switching on, Martin knew. Martin saw. Martin understood. He actually blinked in the darkness as if the sudden internal illumination had flashed in his eyes.

Martin looked once again at the raccoons ripping apart his garbage. His lips pressed tightly into something like a smile and he took a step backward. He turned and began walking out of the alley.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

A couple of street lamps over, almost directly across the road from the hole in the bushes, large moths were fluttering in the air between the light and the ground. The shadows of the moths moved back and forth along the road by the curb. Among the shadows of the moths, darker shapes moved quickly along the curb. The mice were setting up for their night time adventures.

About a dozen mice had gathered along the curb, and at first Martin thought they were pitching pennies. But he realized the mice weren’t tossing coins, just spinning them and watching them fall. And the mice only had one penny. They were also spinning a quarter and a nickel. When the coins stopped spinning and fell flat, some of the mice made notations in little notebooks.

“Hi, mice,” Martin said. “What are you guys doing?”

The mouse nearest Martin handed his notebook to another mouse and turned to Martin. “We’re doing math,” the mouse said. “Specifically, we’re studying probability. We’re checking that heads/tails dynamics, that is, fifty-fifty outcomes, work the same with different systems. Pennies should work the same as nickels the same as dimes and the same as quarters.”

“I think you’ll find a fifty-fifty bet is the same whatever coin you use,” Martin said. “This kind of stuff is easy with computers.”

The mouse laughed. It was a high squeaky sound. “We know. We check things with computers, too. But nothing really compares to getting your paws dirty with real life examples. Sometimes you notice suggestive things a simulation wouldn’t include. We don’t expect any differences in the coins but it never hurts to experiment. We’ve got time. It’s good to be complete. Sometimes you just never know about things.”

Martin pointed at the coins. “But you’re not complete. You’ve got a penny, nickel and quarter but no dime.”

The mouse kicked at the road. “It’s the way things work. Every night there are dozens of coins lying around the sidewalk and curb. People drop them. But tonight, for our experiment, we couldn’t find a dime. So we’re making do.”

Martin reached into his pockets. He felt some change, tugged it out then found a dime and tossed it down to the mice. They scampered around, hopping over each other in excitement. The mice split up some of their groups to dedicate two spinners and a note-taker to the dime. They began spinning their complete set of coins and tracking how they fell.

“Thank you very much,” the mouse nearest Martin said.

“I’m looking for a pack of raccoons,” Martin said. “A while ago, they came out of that hole in the hedges across the street. I think they either turned left and ran down the street or they came across the street this way. Did you see them?”

The mouse swayed from side to side, shaking its head. “We only set up a few moments ago. We were out looking for coins. We just got here. We didn’t see raccoons come out of the hedges at all.”

Martin nodded. “The squirrel said you might have been able to help. Or might not. He said it was worth asking.”

“Oh, you were talking to the squirrel, were you?” the mouse asked. “That squirrel chooses his words carefully. He’s a jazz singer, you know. You were right to pay attention to him. I’m just sorry we couldn’t help you.”

Martin shrugged. “The raccoons have something of mine. I’m going to get it back. I’ve got to track down the raccoons.”

The mouse started to turn back to the coins, then stopped and took a step closer to Martin. “You live in that house across the road, right?”

“Yes,” Martin said.

“Well, we didn’t see any raccoons,” the mouse said, “but, like I said, you never know about things. We did see one odd thing about your house.”

“What’s that?” Martin asked.

“Did you know the cover is off one of your trash cans?”

“No, I didn’t. I took out the trash this afternoon. I latched the can closed when I was done and made sure the others were latched as well.”

“We came through the alley looking for coins around garages. We noticed one of your garbage cans was open because we made a note to go back and check it for lunch later.”

Martin looked across the road to the darkness behind his house.

“Maybe,” the mouse said, “the latch broke after you closed it.”

“Yes,” Martin said. “Or maybe the raccoons figured out a way to jump up and pull down the latch.”

“Yes,” the mouse said. “Or maybe something else.”

Martin nodded. He was thinking hard himself about something else, but he couldn’t quite put shapes to his thoughts, couldn’t quite put his thoughts into words.

“Thank you for the dime,” the mouse said. “It helps us be complete in our research. And I hope our little observation helps you get what you’re looking for.”

“I think it will,” Martin said. “And I’ll keep in mind what you said about the squirrel choosing his words carefully.”

The mouse laughed again. “Goodbye. I’ve got to get back to the experiments.”

Martin waved. The mouse returned to the others and began to help spinning coins.

Martin looked again at the blackness behind his house. He took a long breath. He looked both ways along the road, but there was no traffic in either direction. He walked across the road, this time back toward his house, back toward the deepest darkness behind the house in the alley.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

The wide, wooden steps creaked under Martin’s feet as he stepped down from the porch. The crickets in the nearest bushes stopped chirping. Martin stepped completely off the porch into the grass. Behind him, he heard Susan go inside and close the door.

At least she left the light on, Martin thought. And at that exact moment Susan switched off the porch light leaving Martin standing in the darkness of his yard. In the bushes, the crickets resumed chirping.

On the other side of the hedges, street lamps along the road provided some illumination. Martin could see light streaming through a ragged opening in the hedges where the raccoons had run through.

Martin walked forward and bent to examine the opening. I’ll never fit through there, he thought. He straightened and walked to the edge of the hedgerow. From the corner of the hedgerow, he turned and looked back. On the other side of the hedges, the raccoons could have turned right, gone straight across the road or turned left.

I don’t think they would have turned right, Martin thought. That would have taken them back toward the house. They’d know I might have seen them. They’d either go straight across the road or turned left and came this way.

Martin looked around. There were no marks on the sidewalk, and the grass along the road looked fresh and undisturbed. But, Martin reminded himself, if the raccoons had run in the street they would have left no marks.

Then Martin saw a small shape across the road. He heard music. In the circle of light from a street lamp a squirrel was sitting up against the curb playing guitar. Martin walked over.

The squirrel had a small electric guitar. Martin thought it looked like a Stratocaster since he didn’t see a whammy bar he assumed it was a Telecaster. A good jazz choice, Martin thought. And the squirrel was playing a quiet kind of jazz, odd, complex chord progressions that sounded clean but just a little tinny through a small, battery-powered practice amp. Martin looked both ways but the road was empty in the middle of the night. Martin crossed the street to talk to the squirrel.

The squirrel was singing quietly as he played –

“The night will open like a doornobody wants to walk throughand if you don’t get donewhatever you doing by dawnyou might not be ableto walk back through’cause the door of the nightmight be locked on you.”

Martin felt around in his pockets. He found some folded money and took it out. He had a ten and three ones. He considered what to do, then smoothed out the three singles and put them in the squirrel’s guitar case. The bills just fit.

“That was a nice song,” Martin said.

The squirrel continued playing, but he looked up. He gave Martin a long stare, then made a clicking noise with his teeth. “I notice,” the squirrel said, “that you had a ten and three ones. And you gave me the ones. Is that a comment on my playing?”

Martin smiled. “It occurred to me that the best use a squirrel could make out of money would be to shred it and help insulate a nest. I figured you could get more use from three singles than one ten.”

The squirrel laughed. He stopped playing and began checking his tuning. “You’re one of them people that’s always thinking, huh?” the squirrel said. “Insulate my nest, huh? Well, I guess that’s as good an answer as any.”

“I’m looking for a pack of raccoons,” Martin said. “They would have come out of those bushes a few minutes ago. I think they either ran across the street or they ran off down the street. Did you see a pack of raccoons run this way or that?”

The squirrel finished tuning and played a few random chords. “Man, don’t put me in the middle of your troubles. Nobody wants raccoons mad at them. I didn’t see raccoons run across the street or run down the street. I’m just sitting here trying to get my old hands working on these six strings, just trying to get my old voice to disappear into the night without bringing down the stars. I appreciate the paper you passed my way, but I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you.”

“The raccoons have something of mine,” Martin said. “I want it back.”

The squirrel laughed. “If the raccoons have something of yours it belongs to the night, now.”

“I’m going to get it back,” Martin said.

“Good luck,” the squirrel said. “Don’t let my playing and singing keep you around here yapping if you’re after some raccoons.”

Martin was going to say something else, but thought better of it. He glanced both ways along the road then turned to follow the curb guessing the raccoons had turned left exiting the hedgerow. “Thanks for your time,” Martin said to the squirrel. “I did like your song.” Martin started away.

The squirrel played a fast scale and then stopped. “Hey. I’ve told you everything I’ve got to tell. But there’s some mice down the other direction. A couple of street lamps along. They might have seen more. They might not have seen anything. But I’d guess it’s something you might want to take up with them.”

Martin looked over his shoulder. That was back in the direction of his house. The mice must have been right across the street from the hole in the hedges the raccoons used to leave his yard.

“Thanks for the tip,” Martin said. He started back up the road.

The squirrel returned to his song –

“The night will open like a doornobody wants to walk throughand if you don’t get donewhatever you doing by dawnyou might not be ableto walk back through’cause the door of the nightmight be locked on you.”

Monday, August 07, 2006

Martin switched on the porch light at the exact instant his wife Susan threw his sweater to the raccoons.

“Why did you do that?” Martin asked.

Susan turned to face him. “What do you think I did?” she asked.

In the yard, at the very fringe of the light from the porch, the pack of raccoons gathered up the crumpled cloth and scampered away into a hedgerow.

“You threw my sweater to the raccoons,” Martin said.

“No,” Susan said, “I didn’t.”

“Yes,” Martin said, “you did. I saw it clearly. It was my favorite sweater. The green one with the little rocket ship on the chest. You threw it to the raccoons.”

“No,” Susan said, “it was just a rag. I threw a rag at the raccoons to scare them out of the front yard.”

Martin and Susan stared at each other. The night was quiet around them. Crickets chirped in the darkness away from the porch. A gentle breeze carried the smell of night dampness off the hedges and across the porch.

Martin looked away. He studied the darkness where the raccoons had disappeared in the hedges.

Martin looked at Susan, then looked again into the darkness outside the light. He took a deep breath. He nodded.

“I’m going to get it back,” Martin said.

“A rag?” Susan asked. “A rag I threw at some animals?”

“No,” Martin said. “My favorite sweater. You threw it to the raccoons, but I’m going to get it back. I’m going out there. I’m going out into the night and get back my favorite sweater from the raccoons.”

Thursday, August 03, 2006

SUZY is in a skimpy bikini walking alongthe beach. Sunbathers are all around her.

SUZY

This little adventure has taught us that skimpyis still sexy no matter how hard the marketing typestry to sell cover-up skirts and tops. And we learnedthat even though more people are using sun screenskin cancer rates are going up. The theory is thatmore people are going to beaches today than in the past.But tin-foil types – of course – think that sun screencauses cancer. My Suzy theory is – of course – the simplestone. My theory is that if sun screen blocks the ultravioletrays in sunlight from killing healthy cells then sun screen alsoblocks the ultraviolet rays from killing unhealthypre-cancerous cells which are then free to grow andmature into actual cancer cells. I’m not a doctor and I don’tplay one on TV – though I sometimes play with themon TV – but my prescription is to get some sun but don’tget a lot of sun and – of course – have fun. Bye-bye!I’ll see you next time the camera’s on!

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

SUZY’S in her pajamas. She’s gargling.She bends out of frame to spit into the sink,straightens up and runs water for a second.Suzy turns to face the camera.

SUZY

Okay, today we learned that indiscriminate useof antibiotics can cause big problems.The antibiotics will kill the target germs butcertain strains of germs will survive.Without competition from the dead germsthe survivor germs will grow into super-colonies.Since antibiotics don’t kill these winner germsyou are stuck with them. Whatever they do to you.Yuck. But of course things are neveras simple as the doctors-turned-writersmake them out to be. Because, hey,I’ve been gargling with this stuff –

Suzy opens her mouth wide. The camerazooms into the blackness, then zooms out.

SUZY

See? No monster germs. My mouth is so cleanyou could sit down in there and eat a meal.And some people have . . . So enjoybetter living through chemistry butthink about things. Bye-bye! I’ll see younext time they turn on the camera!

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

SUZY’S soaking wet. She has a towel overher shoulders from drying her hair.

SUZY

So, what have we learned? Things like odd shaped logsfloating in the water or unfamiliar animalsswimming in the water can be mistaken for sea monsters.Duh. Of course, by that same principle every dayhundreds of people see real sea monstersand mistake them for floating logs or swimming animals.I guess. Anyway, all you can do is have fun.But keep in mind you never know what’s just a few feet awaywaiting to bite you on the rump. It might be meor it might be something even scarier! Bye-bye!See you next time the camera’s on!